


Who We Say We Are

by lithle



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Fluff, Get Together, Gundam Wing Holiday Gift Exchange 2018, Happy Ending, I Tried, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, duo's a baby whisperer, or at least an attempt at fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithle/pseuds/lithle
Summary: When Trowa finds a baby in the woods, he's determined to keep it, even if he doesn't have the first clue how to care for an infant. Luckily, Duo's willing to lend a hand. Soon, something starts to kindle between them, and they must decide if they have the courage to follow where their feelings lead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talliya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talliya/gifts).



> Written for the 2018 Gundam Wing Holiday Gift exchange! The, umm, holiday part got a little lost, but at least it takes place in the winter? Request was for 2x3 and single parent. It's a bit at a slant, but I hope it fits the brief!

Trowa: _you know about kids_

_Duo: know what_

_Trowa: like, what they eat_

_Duo: food. kids eat food. mostly crap food_

_Trowa: no. the little ones_

_Duo: babies?_

_Trowa: babies. you know about babies? like, why they cry_

_Duo: sure._

_Trowa: how soon can you be here_

_Duo: what's this about_

_Trowa: I found one_

_Duo: a baby?!_

_Trowa: yes. how soon can you be here_

_Duo: you don’t just find babies. well, ok. sure. people do. but you don’t. where did you find a baby? take it back_

_Trowa: no. can you come_

_Duo: fuck. fine. fine! still in the same place_

_Trowa: yes_

_Duo: give me 24 hours. Until then... fuck. pretend you’re undercover as a dad. don’t shake it! or throw knives at it. they drink formula. only that. no water. no food. just formula. go buy some_

 

“Well, fuck. You weren’t kidding, were you?” Duo’s voice was low with laughter.

Trowa turned from the red-faced infant to see Duo standing in the doorway, braid dusted with snow, that easy, unreadable grin fixed on his face. He was five hours early, but even still, Trowa should have heard him coming. Usually would have. But the screaming made it hard to hear much of anything.

“You made it.” Trowa let out his breath in a huff of relief. “Thanks.”

“No problem. We gotta look out for each other, yeah?” Duo’s usually restless gaze was locked on the baby, and he stepped past Trowa, shucking his coat in one smooth motion and scooping the screaming infant into his arms with the same easy familiarity he usually showed guns. “Hey there, pal. Did this mean man kidnap you?”

The screaming stopped, subsiding into high, unhappy whining. Trowa watched in quiet puzzlement as Duo flipped the infant onto his shoulder, thumping it rhythmically on its back until it belched loudly. Duo always looked happy, in an abstract, untrustworthy way. But now, he wasn’t grinning. No, he was smiling, a soft, subtle expression that Trowa wasn’t sure he’d seen before. It suited him.

“I found it,” Trowa objected. “Out in the forest."

Which admittedly, wasn't saying much. Trowa's place was surrounded by forest on all sides, a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, where no one thought to bother him, no one came who wasn't invited. The forests were empty. Finding a baby had been unexpected.

“Hear that pal?” Duo asked, bouncing up and down on his toes, his usual restless rhythm seeming to suit the infant perfectly. “Trowa says he found you in a tree. Now, where are your parents?”

“Dead.” Trowa had seen too much to shy away from unpleasant memories, but he still wished he hadn’t found that little campsite. The winter had been mild until a week ago, when a blizzard had come on without warning. The couple had clearly been living rough for months. They must have thought they could weather the storm.

They hadn’t. The infant had. He’d found it wrapped in nearly every blanket and scrap of clothing they had, with the woman's bare, blue body curled around the bundle. The man had been about two hundred feet away, heading for help, maybe.

Duo’s gaze jerked in his direction, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t kill them.”

“‘Course you didn’t,” Duo said, as if the unspoken question had never been unspoken. “Other relatives?”

“They were hiding. Looked like they had a reason. I’m not sending it back to whatever they were running from.” He locked his gaze with Duo’s and spoke with careful clarity. “It’s mine, Duo. Just show me how to take care of it."

Duo went quiet, and Trowa wondered if he’d miscalculated. Duo lived on the gray side of the law, even now. Did he really care about the infant's rightful owner?

“Right. Fine. Let’s do this. Congratulations, Trowa, you’re a Daddy.” Duo lifted the infant from his shoulder, holding it at arm's length and frowning. “First, babies come in 'she,' 'he,' and if you don’t want to make assumptions ‘they.’”

“It’s a she.”

That's a start, eh, pal?” The infant was starting to struggle in his arms, though with none of the ferocity that it, or she, showed Trowa. She seemed to like him, instantly. People did that with Duo. Even Heero. Even Trowa, for that matter. There was a comfort to his company that went beyond just the way he'd made the screaming stop.

Trowa had been keeping to himself for years. It was better that way. People were too easy to get lost in. Even Quatre, who's friendship was a rock in Trowa's life, got a little overwhelming sometimes. He had such high hopes for Trowa. For everyone.

But Duo was different. Maybe it was the stealth training. He could fill a room one minute and disappear the next. Seeing him, well, Trowa hadn't realized how lonely he'd been. On reflection, maybe his decision to not exactly kidnap a kid should have been a clue.

The baby was opening and closing her mouth like a desperate fish.

“She's hungry,” Trowa said. He'd learned that much.

“Let's get you some grub, kiddo.” Duo swung her around to face front, propping her on his arms. “She needs a name.”

“I’m not good at names. You do it.”

Duo had found the bottle and formula without difficulty, though he seemed less than impressed with Trowa’s kitchen. Shifting the baby to one arm, he turned on the tap, letting the water run over the inside of his wrist. “You’re the one who wants to keep her.”

“I’m no one,” Trowa said, as Duo measured out formula. “I stole a name so I could steal a Gundam, and I still use it.”

Duo set down the bottle, and once again Trowa was treated to a gaze that had none of his manic energy, none of his devil-may-care grin. Just measured, thoughtful, observation, reminding Trowa that the war was so long ago now that he’d lived as long since as he had prior. Fifteen years could change a person. They’d clearly changed Duo.

He wasn’t sure what they’d done to him.

“You’re Trowa Barton,” Duo said, with some force. “And I’m Duo Maxwell. Doesn’t matter where we got the names, they’re ours now. We are who we say we are.”

The baby in Duo's arms turned her dark eyes on him, waving her fat fists at the bottle Duo was holding.

“C'mon, let's get her fed. You don't gotta name her right away. But we need something to forge on her birth certificate.” Duo looked down at the baby, then back at Trowa, almost tentative. “You want me to stay a couple days? Your daughter seems to like me all right.”

His daughter? Well, what else could you call her? She was struggling against Duo's grasp, mouth wide open, but still not screaming. Why was he so good with her, anyway?

“Yes," he said, ignoring his own instinct to retreat, to stay quiet and alone and centered. “Please stay.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Duo: you talked to Trowa lately_

_Quatre: Is this about the baby?_

_Duo: right. course you have_

_Quatre: We spoke yesterday. He said you were going to drop by. How are things going?_

_Duo: he, uhh, really doesn't know babies, Q_

_Quatre: not everyone has a half dozen godchildren, Duo. How are Hilde's brood?_

_Duo: haven't been able to visit much. don't want to bring her trouble. last time I visited it went bad_

_Quatre: You could try to stay out of trouble. There are professions besides theft. I've told you Duo, we could use someone with your skills._

_Duo: no thanks, Q_

_Quatre: We're a good company, Duo. We're helping people._

_Duo: yeah. I know. but I'm not good people. I shouldn't be around good people_

_Quatre: Duo, you know that's not true._

_Duo: don't even know what I'm doing here. Trowa can figure it out without me. he has the fucking internet_

_Quatre: Duo, stop. The internet is hardly a substitute for experience. He needs you._

_Duo: …._

_Duo: …._

_Quatre: Duo?_

_Duo: im here_

_Quatre: Give him a couple days, okay? I need to wrap things up here for year's end, but I can be there next week._

_Duo: k_

 

“Shriek.”

“No, Trowa.”

“Red.”

“No.”

“красный”

“Is that just red again?”

“Maybe.”

“No. Try an actual name, maybe?”

“Catherine.”

“A new name.”

Silence. Trowa looks down at the baby, and for a second, I think he looks scared. Like maybe he's starting to realize that a kid is different than a lion. He learns fast, though. Scary fast. We're sitting in the dark, arguing names in whispers, and she’s sleeping in his arms, held close and careful. When I got here, he didn’t even know how to hold her.

He still doesn’t want to give her an identity. And I get it. Names are weighted for both of us. I wear my memories. He wears the emptiness of where memory wasn’t.

The baby stirs in Trowa’s arms, and he shifts her weight, bouncing her just enough to settle her back into sleep. She’s somewhere around three months, I think, maybe older but undersized. Her eyes have that brightness, like she’s starting to see the world clearly. They flutter open, and I watch her stare up at him. Watch him stare down at her.

Watch the slow transformation that is a genuine smile on Trowa’s face. It’s the sort of smile you want to taste.

And it’s about than that I realize, fuck, I’m a sucker for a good dad. And yeah, maybe Trowa could be one, with a little help.

But not mine.

Hilde’s one thing. Hard to screw things up too badly with her watching the way she does. And still, I brought the fucking police to her door last time. Kids screaming, the whole lot of them, having to watch Uncle Duo run out the back door from the bad men.

How’s that for trauma?

But Trowa doesn’t know enough to snap, if I set a foot wrong. Doesn’t know that most my baby experience starts back Maxwell Church before it burned, when we all looked after each other. Not exactly a degree in early child education, is it?

And most of all, if work were to catch up with me here, in Trowa’s quiet cabin, he’d be pulling a gun to stand at my side, and where’d that leave the kid?

I shouldn’t be here. Should get out before things go bad, the way they always do. Someone’s bound to get sick, catch fire, explode.

“Sometimes,” says Trowa, “she looks just like a person.”

There’s awe in his voice.

“Yeah,” I say. “You watch out, soon enough she’ll be one. Gotta protect her from bad influences.”

Like me.

“She'll get to choose her own influences.” Trowa looks up, and for once his eyes aren't walls, they're windows, and what's behind them is bright and warm. “We can give her that.”

We, he says.

And me? I say nothing. I just watch him holding her, feeling all breathless and hopeful, like Relena when Heero does something stupid but noble.

After all, what could be stupider than sticking around me?


	3. Chapter 3

_Quatre: How are you holding up?_

_Trowa: Duo's here now._

_Quatre: I heard. How is he?_

_Trowa: Helpful. He's good with her._

_Quatre: He's had a lot of practice. But that wasn't a utilitarian question. I'm a bit worried about him._

_Trowa: He seems on edge. Probably wants to get back to space. He's a pirate, not a nanny._

_Quatre: I prefer to think of him as Robin Hood._

_Trowa: Who?_

_Quatre: Nevermind._

_Trowa: It's comfortable, having him here. I didn't think it would be._

_Quatre: Really? You barely tolerate even my company._

_Trowa: Sorry._

_Quatre: I understand. Don't be._

_Trowa: You're still coming next week?_

_Quatre: After the first. I have a few things to wrap up, yet._

_Trowa: Busy?_

_Quatre: Always._

_Trowa: I could ask Duo to stay longer._

_Quatre: Try. I think it'd be good for him. He's been so isolated. You both have._

_Trowa: Talk later? It's Duo's turn to sleep._

_Quatre: Whenever you need me._

 

Trowa was used to going days without sleeping. As a Gundam pilot, he'd run on pure desperation and necessity for weeks at a time.

But he'd been a kid, then. The past few days without sleep had hit him harder than he'd expected. And now, waking from a five hour nap, his first sleep in three days, he felt reborn, almost giddy from the combined forces of sleep deprivation and rest.

Duo was on the couch, all boneless relaxation, the baby sitting on his lap. She was watching in fascination as he burbled nonsense syllables, her chubby fingers reaching for his mouth.

Trowa lingered in the doorway as Duo caught her fingers between his lips and pretended to chew on them.

The baby's eyes widened, then she opened her mouth in a broad toothless smile. Duo laughed around her fingers, his eyes shining in the early morning light.

An emotion Trowa couldn't put a name to burned through him like heat, bright as a summer's day on this cold winter morning. He smiled, barely knowing why, but following his feelings.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning. Get some sleep?” Duo sat up and his braid swung forward, over his shoulder. The baby reached for it, her fingers almost closing around the end before Duo snatched away. “Sorry pal. You're a little young for weapons. We'll talk when you're three.”

That was right, Duo kept all sorts of dangerous toys in his braid. What might you find if you unwove it, let it fall loose like a cloak over his shoulders? What would you find if you studied Duo, unwrapped him, got past the practiced smile, the dark clothes, found what lay beneath, all secrets and skin?

“I'll take that as a no,” Duo said. He stood, setting the baby on the blanket he'd laid down on the floor. “You want some more sleep? I can go for days yet.”

“I'm fine,” Trowa said, dizzied by his own unbidden thoughts. “Just processing.”

“There's a lot of that, with kids.” Duo patted his shoulder with rough comradery and Trowa felt the shiver of goosebumps as his skin yearned toward the contact. Duo's brow furrowed, lips turning down in the start of a frown. “You cold, man?” And then, voice going sharper, “Feverish? You getting sick?”

Trowa wasn't sure what had caused the sudden, fight-or-flight panic in Duo's face, what raw nerve his involuntary shiver had triggered. But he knew he had to defuse it.

“I'm not sick,” he said, making the words firm, setting them like a shield between Duo and his fear. “It's just that you touched me.”

Another flicker of a frown, but the fear was gone. Then a smile, as fixed and dishonest as a clown's paint. “Sorry, man. Should keep my hands to myself. Know you stoic sorts don't like to be touched. Heero almost broke my hand once.”

“I don't like being touched.” Trowa grabbed Duo's wrist, felt him flinch, but held on, bringing those square, callused fingertips to rest on his bare arm. Goosebumps bloomed. “But I like it when you touch me.”

Duo's licked his lips, eyes gone wide. “Oh.”

Trowa let go, but Duo's hand lingered there, radiating heat. “I'm not asking for anything,” he said. “But I'm not sick.”

Duo tried another grin, though his grip on Trowa's arm felt desperate. “You might be, if you have the hots for me.”

“No,” Trowa said. Just that. Duo was always turning little knives on himself. This was the first that Trowa had realized how little he liked the habit.

“Oh,” said Duo, again. His thumb ran in restless circles over Trowa’s skin. It was very difficult to hold still. “I. Uhh. Man. Fuck. Right. What do you want to do about this?”

“We don't have to do anything.”

“But what do you want?”

Trowa was accustomed to reading and reflecting the wants of others. Examining his own desires was less of a habit. He glanced toward the baby, who was chewing on her fist with single-minded focus. She knew what she wanted, could make it clear without speaking. Trowa didn't have that luxury.

“I don't know,” he said, helplessly. “I don't do this.”

“This?” Duo's blunt nails traced Trowa's veins, up and down the length of his arm. Trowa thought his knees might give out. “Be touched?”

“Want.” Or be touched, but now wasn't the time for lists.

All the fear and puzzlement was gone from Duo's expression. His gaze was as heated as his touch. He stepped closer, into Trowa's space and Trowa, who had moved 100 miles from everyone just to learn to hear his own thoughts, wanted him closer.

“Ok if I kiss you?” Duo asked.

“Yes.”

He’d expected something hard and sharp, the sort of demanding, aggressive kiss he'd experienced in the past. But Duo's lips barely ghosted over his, a teasing, inquisitive warmth, gone too soon.

“Think about what you want,” Duo whispered against Trowa's skin. “Then let me know.” The baby whined, and he stepped away. “What is it kiddo? You done chewing on yourself? Want your Dad?”

He looked to Trowa, who scooped her up, though they both knew she preferred Duo. But Duo wasn’t staying. So she had to get used to him. It was something for him to remember. For them both to remember. What was the use in wanting what he couldn’t keep?


	4. Chapter 4

_Quatre: Duo, what's wrong?_

_Duo: who says anything is wrong_

_Quatre: I can tell. What is it? What happened?_

_Duo: don't be spooky, Q_

_Quatre: Duo…_

_Duo: fine. i fucked up. are you happy now_

_Quatre: You need to talk. Let me call you._

_Duo: no. just leave it Q. i'm only here one more day. i can cope_

_Quatre: I think Trowa would like you to stay longer._

_Duo: Q, he can barely stand to look at me. i'm pretty sure you're wrong_

_Quatre: What happened, Duo?_

_Duo: i'm poison, that's what happened. i just need to get away from here_

 

Two days since I kissed him, and we dance around each other like angry cats. No conversation that isn’t instructive, and even then, he’s stopped looking to me for help. I shouldn’t have pushed him. Don’t know why I did. Didn’t he make what he wanted clear enough?

Except he didn’t. If I’d gone with it, just like that, he would have regretted it. I’d be the mistake he made, the whim he’d had. Mostly, I don’t mind being someone’s impulse, a thing you get out of your system.

But not with Trowa. Not like that.

Or like anything, I guess. He’s still not looking at me. I should have known better. Shouldn’t have touched him.

Fuck but he’s gorgeous, even just putting away the groceries we bought, baby tucked in one arm. All lean muscle and acrobatic grace, and you could just guess what he’d be like in bed, but we’ll just keep that little thought to ourselves because we’re never going to find out, are we?

Better this way. The God of Death shouldn’t be hanging around anyone long. I’ve already fucked up here. When Trowa looks down at the baby now, it’s with the same blank look he’s been giving me. Somehow, I’ve messed even that up. Maybe he’s starting to regret her.

But that can be fixed. Once I’m gone, they’ll be better again.

Once I’m gone, everything’ll be better again.

And Quatre’ll be here soon. Trowa’s learned enough to keep her alive until then. The sooner I'm gone the better. And that means tonight.

And if the thought hurts, fuck, I deserve it.

* * *

I wait until late to spring it on him. The end of my shift, when he’s well rested, and I’m confident they can make it through to morning. She’s asleep in my arms, and but we’re good at this now, shifting her between us without waking her.

We don’t even have to talk. Which is good, because he’s stopped doing that too.

“I got a call from my ship,” I say, which is true. “Everyone's back from their little Christmas trips and things are getting weird up there. Time for me to get back.”

“When?” he asks, and there’s nothing in his voice. I tell myself I’m glad of that. But I’ve always been a bad liar.

“I’ve got a car coming in about an hour,” I say. “Quatre’ll be here day after tomorrow. You’ve got this down now, you’ll be fine.”

Nothing changes that I see, but the baby wakes in his arms, whining. He starts to bounce her like I showed him, but I can already tell it's a lost cause. She's awake and staying that way.

“Want me to make you up a bottle?” I ask.

“I don't think she's hungry.”

She's not, but it would have gotten me out of the room.

“Ok. Well, see you around.”

He's frowning, and I'd swear I almost manage to meet his eyes. But then he shrugs and nods and the moment's over. I guess that's it. Goodbye to another fuckup and I'll just be glad I didn't do worse than I did.

* * *

“I’ve decided what to call her,” Trowa says.

It's only been about 20 minutes, and I’m just about done shoving my stuff in my bag and there’s Trowa in the doorway, shadowed by the hall light. The baby squirms in his arms, squealing and reaching for me. I try not to look at her. I shouldn't have let myself get attached.

“Yeah?” I ask. What’ll it be this time? Une? Relena? Heavyarms?

“Freya,” he says.

Look, I don’t know shit. But I know the gods who rule the dead. Know Hades, Osiris, and Mictēcacihuātl. Know Freya, who rides through the battlefield in her chariot drawn by cats and takes half the slain for her own.

“Why?” I ask. It comes out a bit shaky.

“For death,” he says. He steps forward, flicking on the light. His expression is impassive, but his eyes burn. “For war. For wanting.”

“It’s a pretty name,” I say, mouth gone dry. “Hi Freya.”

Freya responds with an open mouth smile, drool dripping down her chin.

“I want you to stay,” Trowa says.

I want to stay. I shouldn't stay.

“Nah man, you’ve got this. And Quatre’ll be here soon.”

“Not for her. For me.” He takes a breath, like a man who’s been rehearsing, and before I can decide whether or not to interrupt he’s talking again. “No one’s ever asked me what I wanted. Not asked and waited. Asked and meant it. And it’s easy, to be what people think they want of me. Easy when you’re already a lie, to change what lie you are. But you didn’t make assumptions. You let me think.”

I hear the unspoken explanation, not quite an apology, behind the words. That's what he's been doing the last two days. Thinking about what I asked.

“You’re not a lie.” I say. “Maybe you started as one, but you’re Trowa now. The only one who matters.”

“I know,” he says, though he sounds surprised by his own words. “And I get to decide what that means. Who I am. What I want. And I want you to stay.”

“Why?”

“Because you asked. Because you waited. Because you don’t expect me to be anyone but myself. Because Freya loves you and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Because I like it when you touch me.”

“That’s a lot of reasons,” I say. And part of me is screaming run, run now, you’ll only fuck it up again. But I didn’t the first time. I got it right. And he’s looking at me like he knows me. Like he wants me in his gang. And he’s fucked up and gorgeous, and hell, I am too. Freya could do worse.

“Trowa, it’s been like three days. Isn’t it, you know, a little soon to be playing happy families?”

“I’ve known you half my life. We fought a war together.” He steps forward, leans over Freya, and kisses me, long and slow. It’s a question. A promise. An answer.

It’s as quiet as he is. As deep. Freya wiggles between us, and he pulls away.

“I’m a disaster,” I say. “Everything I touch breaks.”

He smiles like dawn. “You really think you've got what it takes to hurt me?”

And it’d be a joke, except it isn’t, because what could I do to Trowa that he hasn’t already lived through?

“You want me to stay,” I say.

“Yes,” he says.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” I take Freya from him, and she squeals in delight as I swing her through the air, kicking her legs and letting out an honest-to-god giggle. And in that moment, I’m in love. With her, with him, with being here and being wanted. And who knows if it’ll last, but who knows if anything will last? I’ve seen too much not to reach for happiness when it’s offered.

“Well, that’s one of you I’ve got to laugh,” I say.

Trowa chuckles, the sound low and sweet like honey wine, and I am lost to it.


End file.
